After The Music Fades
by Blazing Glory
Summary: Chris gets a surprise from his beloved Icon. Rated T for slash kiss and implications.


After The Music Fades

Rated T (does have slash kiss & implications, nothing graphic)

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't be writing. But they have real lives, not portrayed here, and I don't mean to insult anyone. I'm not making any money or anything. I love Fozzy & Chris. Shawn, I miss you already.

Shawn slumped against the wall of the club, trying to be inconspicuous. He wasn't in the mood to be recognized tonight, and had gone out of his way to remain anonymous. He had paid cash for the now dog-eared ticket clutched in a damp palm. The only things on him were his driver's license and the one credit card in his real name. Gone were the trademark kickers, instead a pair of old gym shoes graced the Heartbreak Kid's feet. Jeans were jeans, but this was a pair he had worn riding and rough housing, not neatly pressed for the ring. His blond hair hung free, slightly obscuring his face. The piece de resistance, ordered secretly on line and mailed to Hunter's house so Chris wouldn't know about it, was the brand new Chasing the Grail t-shirt that stretched across the broad shoulders. He glanced at his watch– no, not the gold Rolex, an old Timex from days long past –and saw that Chris should take the stage in about twenty minutes. He started weaving his way through the crowd, determined to get close enough to witness his love's performance, yet paradoxically praying Chris didn't recognize him.

The local warm up guys were pretty good, Chris thought, dodging the neck of the bass that swung past him as the kid raced off the stage. In the semi-darkness he stepped towards the mic, reveling in the purely emotional high that the backstage warm ups had started pouring through his veins. He loved wrestling, – body and soul, night after night, but music – well, it was _heart _ and soul. A different way of expressing himself, neither any more or less fulfilling, but just different halves of his being. As the lights came up and Rich hit the opening chords of Martyr No More, Chris briefly closed his eyes and began to sing. Shawn was transfixed. Sure, he had heard Chris sing – the occasional karaoke night, the rare shower serenade, but _nothing _could have prepared him for this. The pure raw emotion radiating from the man on stage electrified every nerve ending, sending shivers down Shawn's spine.

As the last notes of the encore faded away, Shawn started edging his way towards the backstage exit, fighting the flow of the crowd. He finally forced his way to the doors, only to be stopped by a very large security guard. One that could easily have been mistaken for Mark Henry's twin, if Mark ever did the cue-ball thing. "Hey, I need to go see Chris," Shawn said, flashing his trademark grin. "Yeah, so do a lot of other people. That's why they have me around," the guard rumbled. "No, seriously, I'm a good friend of the band's and --" "Got an ID?" The guard extended his hand in a very bored manner. Shawn pulled out his driver's license and dropped in into the saucer sized palm. "Well, Mr. Hickenbottom, I don't recognize your name from any of the lists, but I can go ask if you really want me to." Shawn cringed, having forgotten it wasn't his usual work ID, the one that parted velvet ropes and opened closed doors. "No, that's ok." Shawn shook his head in defeat. His plan of surprising Chris now seemed shot to pieces. "Figured it would be," the guard tossed Shawn's ID back at him, hitting him in the chest with it. Shawn picked it up off the floor, shaking his head in dismay. Then, as if in answer to his prayer, the door opened and Rich Ward poked his head out. "Hey, Steve, I left my strap on stage. Is it clear for me to go get it?" Steve turned and glared at Shawn. "We gonna have any problems if I let Mr. Ward get his stuff?"

"No. I was just wanting to see Chris."

"Shawn?" The guitarist looked over his shoulder in vague recognition.

"Hey, Rich. Didn't know if you'd remember me or not." Rich pulled the older man into a one-armed hug. "Course I remember you, Icon. Why didn't you just come on back?"

"Well," Shawn rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Didn't want any fan hassle tonight. It's Chris' turn, and my real name doesn't mean anything to most people."

Rich nodded, "Go on. Chris should be in the small dressing room by now. Second door on the left.

Shawn stuck his head in the room cautiously, not sure who might be in the room with Chris, or if the object of his search was even here. Seeing his love's treasured leather bracelet on the small make-up bench along with his travel kit reassured him that he was in the right place. He sat on the small couch, legs stretched out, and relaxed, replaying the sheer energy of the concert in his mind, reliving the pure emotion he had read on Chris' face – joy, love, even a touch of ecstasy, and deeper things that probably only Shawn was privy to. The door swung open, breaking Shawn's reverie. Chris walked in, toweling his still damp hair. Jeans slung low on his hips, and shirtless, a sight Shawn would never tire of.

"Hey gorgeous. Awesome performance tonight."

Chris' head snapped up like he had been hit with a live wire. "Shawn!"

Before Shawn could move, Chris had pinned him to the couch, seeking his lips, running soft kisses across his cheek. "I didn't think you were coming. You said you couldn't make it, you had something important to do." Shawn pulled back slightly, looking into the clear blue eyes pooling with tears. "Chris, never doubt you are the most important thing in the world to me. I may have been an idiot, but seeing you out there tonight, I realize just how much of you I was cutting myself off from by not being here." He claimed the lips hovering over his own with a sweet kiss. "Now, how bout you get dressed and we have our own after-party at the hotel?" Chris nodded, as he got up and grabbed his own clean shirt off the top of his bag.

A/N -- Was thinking about having a 'yummy' scene in here, but didn't know how that would work w/the prompt and the audience. I know a lot of writers get flamed for it, and I don't want to deal with that. Got it about half written. Ask me nice and I'll post an extended/altered version. Thanks. BG.


End file.
